


Gifts

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar's first gift leaves room for more to grow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Calyah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/gifts).



Adaar’s first gift is a green cord tied with message-knots, curves and twists devouring one another in serpentine coils. A single wooden flower on it, carved so thin it glows when held to the light.

“Long life. Strength. Friendship,” Adaar says, tracing each knot with a blunted claw as she explains their meaning. “Work of my own two hands.”

“And the flower?” Harding asks, holding out her hand so Adaar can tie the bracelet in place.

Adaar pauses, smiles with teeth glittering sharp. Rests her thumb at the pulse of Harding’s wrist, where the blood sings. “For something to grow.”

* * *

 

Adaar’s second gift is a rainbow of macarons, a wealth of color. Brilliant red and raspberry-tart, another golden with lemon and honey, cascading through orange zest and a crunchy green sprinkled with pistachio, ending with a deep blueberry and violets. All neatly arrayed in a narrow box lined with a white napkin, better to display these little jewels.

“For me?” Harding asks, even as Adaar presses it to her freckled fingers.

“For you.” Adaar plucks a macaron from the box, lights it to her lips with a dry press before offering it to Harding. Ripe with roses and almond.

Harding leaves much later, not even crumbs in that little box, her mouth still dusty with lavender.

* * *

 

Adaar waits until the cheering is over, the feasting and rejoicing, until Sera’s stopped swinging off her horns and collapsed in boneless snores up in the rafters, until Leliana’s drunk just enough wine that her Orlesian slips out to coat every vowel, until even Josephine’s given up on worrying about the wine and petit-fours and Cassandra (cheered by Bull, by Dorian, even Vivienne with a regal nod of approval) stumbled over her own two feet to sweep Josephine into a dance around and behind the throne, until Cole’s buried up to his elbows by cats drawn by the mint in his pockets and the steadiness of his petting fingers, until Varric’s finished the last flourished autograph and Blackwall unchains himself from guilt long enough to slip a smile to a servant who’s been making eyes at him all through dinner--

And she takes Lace aside, kneels before her, still so much taller than her and kisses her mist-soft and star-bright on the freckles of her cheek, then moves just slightly to that confusing space between the cheek and the lips, mouth soft with whispered prayer.

“I have a gift for you, if you would take it.”

“What is it?” Lace asks, mouth still wet with wine and unshed song.

“Myself.”

Lace smiles and stands on tip-toe to lay her lips on Adaar’s forehead.

“You gave me your heart long ago. And I’m still grateful.”

 


End file.
